2 States: The Story of My Marriage

by Chetan Bhagat

  Sniggers ran through the crowd.

  ‘In fact, when Ananya first told us about Krish, we were quite upset. As all Tamilians know, we are so proud of our own culture. We also thought our daughter is one in a million, she will get the best of boys in our own community. Why must she go for a Punjabi boy?’

  Everyone who wore a Kanjeevaram sari in the crowd nodded. The Punjabis kept a straight face.

  ‘We did our best to discourage her. We didn’t treat Krish well even though he moved to Chennai for us. We even showed her Tamil boys. But you know kids of today, they do what they want to do.’

  This time all gave understanding nods.

  ‘So why do parents object to this?’ he said and adjusted his glasses. ‘It is not only about another community. It is the fact your daughter has found a boy for herself. We as parents feel disobeyed, left out and disappointed. We bring our children up from babies to adults, how can they ignore us like this? All our frustration comes out in anger. How much we hate love marriages, isn’t it?’

  Ananya’s aunts smiled.

  ‘But we forget that this has happened because your child had love to give to someone in this world. Is that such a bad thing? Where did the child learn to love? From us, after all, the person they loved first is you.’

  Ananya clasped my arm and clenched it tight. The crowd listened with full attention.

  ‘Actually, the choice is simple. When your child decides to love a new person, you can either see it as a chance to hate some people – the person they choose and their families. Which is what we did for a while. However, you can also see it as a chance to love some more people. And since when did loving more people become a bad thing?’

  He paused to have a glass of water and continued. ‘Yes, the Tamilian in me is a little disappointed. But the Indian in me is quite happy. And more than anything, the human being in me is happy. After all, we’ve decided to use this opportunity to create more loved ones for ourselves.’

  When he kept the mike down, Ananya hugged him hard. The crowd burst into applause. Ananya and I cut the cake through the resounding claps. We fed each other and our respective in-laws a piece. The cameraman gathered both sets of parents for a picture.

  ‘Ananya, see, both our parents. They are smiling,’ I said.

  Rajji mama stood up and came to the mike for his speech.

  ‘Stop Minti’s daddy, he has had six pegs,’ Kamla aunty said.

  Rajji mama took the mike and raised his hand. ‘Ladies and gentleman,’ he said.

  I went up to him.

  ‘Rajji mama, enough. You are too cool to make boring speeches,’ I whispered in his ear.

  ‘Really? We should answer them, no?’ he said.

  ‘It’s not a competition,’ I said.

  He said into the mike, ‘Ladies and gentlemen of Tamil Nadu, thank you very much. Now we invite you to some Punjabi-style dancing with the DJ at the backside.’

  My cousins flew off their chairs and surged towards the dance floor.

  The song collection was a mixture of Tamil and Hindi film music. They had one Punjabi music CD, which Rajji mama had instructed to play in a loop. My family dominated the dance floor, but Ananya urged her aunts and uncles to join in as well. I guess they were my family too now.

  Rajji mama avoided a bad fall while trying a particularly difficult bhangra-break dance fusion step to impress my new relatives. My cousins pushed me and Ananya together for a close dance. I held Ananya to me as we moved on the dance floor.

  ‘Ananya,’ I whispered in her ear.

  ‘What?’ she said softly.

  ‘I love you and your father and your mother and your brother and your relatives,’ I said.

  ‘I love you and your clan, too,’ she said.

  We kissed as Tamils and Punjabis danced around us.

  ‘So, the self-imposed exile is over now? You said we’ll only do it when we cross the finish line,’ I said.

  ‘Is that all you men think about?’ she said.

  ‘Only for the sake of uniting the nation,’ I said.

  Epilogue

  A couple of years later

  ‘Do I have to be here?’ I asked Ananya who lay in the delivery room. A curtain spread mid-way across the bed separated her lower and upper body. The doctors had given her a half-body anesthetic, which enabled her to stay awake during the C-section. A team of specialists hid behind the curtain cutting up her stomach.

  ‘He has a knife,’ I said, peeping at the doctors. My head felt dizzy.

  ‘Don’t freak me out. Talk about something else,’ she said. ‘How’s the book going?’

  ‘Well, the fifth publisher rejected it yesterday,’ I said and stood up again to take a peek. ‘At least I can go to the sixth one now . . . wow, there is blood.’

  ‘Sit down if you can’t handle the sight, and stop being so scared. I can’t feel a thing because of this epidural,’ she said. The doctor had recommended a caesarian without general anesthesia.

  ‘If only you could see,’ I said, ‘wow, I see a leg. It’s like Aliens 3.’

  ‘Shut up,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, it’s a boy,’ I said.

  ‘Does he look like me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen the face yet. I’ve only seen the you-know-what.’

  The doctor took out the whole baby.

  ‘Thank you, doctor, thank you so much,’ I said emotionally and moved to shake his hand.

  ‘Wait,’ the doctor said through his masked face.

  ‘What?’ Ananya said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Oh wait, there’s another leg. Wow, there’s another boy.’

  ‘Twins?’ she said in disbelief, looking ready to faint.

  ‘Yes,’ the doctor said, ‘Congratulations.’

  The nurse cleaned up the two babies and gave them to me.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said as I took one in each arm.

  ‘You are from two different states, right? So, what will be their state?’ the nurse said and chuckled.

  ‘They’ll be from a state called India,’ I said.